2 Culler Brute leaves, following Orathy.

Camilla, Luigi, 5 House Mazetti Guardians leave, following Hadrian.

Camilla, Luigi, 5 House Mazetti Guardians arrive, following Hadrian.

At the base of the hill there stands an old man. With a thin, ropey arm extended, his hand wrapped around the handle of a shovel. He seems to be surveying his work, which is nothing more than a very large, fairly deep trench. He does not appear out of the ordinary, with simple clothing and close-cropped hair. Having witnessed him, a strange sense of familiarity arises, as though he were an acquaintance whose name should be easily recalled...

And yet isn't.

"Careful, now," Mysterion warns as he begins to descend the hillside. "Your true test begins here." The Mirrormask floats elegantly downwards, his robes of umbra trailing him like smoke and shadow. The old man, finally deigning to turn his attention to them, rests his free hand upon his hip and smiles casually. "Oh, you're here," he says. "Not long now. Not long at all," and he points far, far away, to the massive black tower that dominates the skyline. Mysterion makes a hissing sound, which earns a chuckle from the old man, who then dismisses him by turning the brunt of his surprisingly weighty gaze upon the four companions.

"You don't belong here," said in a rough, gravelly voice, old as time. "You trespass in a place not meant for your kind." Hefting his shovel, he advances. "It is my job to put you back."

"You can either step back or be put in your own hole that you've so graciously dug for yourself," Hadrian quips back as his hand moves to his side. He doesn't whip his rapier free immediately, but instead takes a half-step backward in order to plant his foot and prepare to defend himself should the need arise. Whether that means to engage or move away. The willowy frame of the Marquis may seem fragile and weak, but his spine seems to be strong and intact at least as he nods toward the gravedigger, "and it'll be him who puts you there. He's kill more men, women, and probably even a possessed child or two, than you could imagine. *And* he was smart enough to make them dig their *own* graves." Hadrian nods toward Calaudrin with this description.

Even tucked somewhere a little more behind Calaudrin than any dominant space amongst the group, Saedrus takes a small step aside, just enough to better see the old man. There's confused recognition in evergreen eyes for the man, that narrows just a fraction when the group as a whole seem to be told to trot on. Whatever thought might be brewing Hadrian's sharp retort gets a look, and the courtier considers Calaudrin and the Dark Reflection both in turn. "It is hardly trespassing if there is invitation."

"Especially that part about the possessed child or two." Calaudrin drawls tiredly and while Hadrian hasn't entirely lifted his own weapon, the Iron Guard has shrugged his bow into position with practiced ease. "You won't be putting me back anywhere with the use of a shovel." His fingers tangle around the prayerbeads that hang at his wrist.

Someone wearing A Dark Reflection Mirrormask walks with the mirrored hands held clasped within the folds of the black robes, the gold eyes staring from behind the mirrormask at the guardian before looking towards the three with him. He finally speaks, a smooth voice as the mask tilts down ever slightly and a mirrored hand comes out of the folds of the robes to touch the chest in a show of respect. "The Reflection teaches that we are what we repeatedly do, and all can witness you are one who does not shirk his duties. We are not here to interrupt but instead would see you back to your great task. The choice has been made, the gate has been opened. The Chosen are here to retrieve what was taken. What do you seek to delay your duty temporarily so that we might pass?"

Hadrian's shadow begins to gesticulate wildly, pointing at himself and then appearing to deliberate with his own shadow-companions before Shadow Saedrus saunters over to him and leans forward to mutter something in his ear. Meanwhile, Mysterion cautions, "The Barrowkeeper is not someone a blade will defeat!"

The old man, who, now that they were near him, was as grey as the world around him. "You misunderstand," he informs them calmly. "The dead never interrupt. They but arrive."

Hadrian goes quiet and still for a moment, while his head tilts aside ever so slightly as if to listen to a faint sound in the rumble of a storm. A slow blink is given before his harlequin green eyes flash aside to Calaudrin, Saedrus, and the mirrormask. Hadrian's hand slips beneath his sword cloak and he quietly mutters, "The dead only arrive? So we're dead...interesting." Hadrian's hand withdraws and within it a peculiar object. A most puzzling object. He grips it within his fist and as his fingers uncurl from around it he holds it before himself, though according to his body language he seems prepared to draw his hand back abruptly in order to protect it from being snatched away.

Hadrian drops a puzzling object.

"Of course not." Saedrus laments quietly over what /wouldn't/ work on the Barrowkeeper, but his eyes are caught on the movement of the shadows against the sand and earth beneath. Brows furrow as the true Saedrus watches his shadow saunter and whisper before he blinks up, "I am not dead." the courtier says defiantly.

Calaudrin frowns at the idea that he might be dead right now. "Yeah, I'm going to disagree with that possibility." His fingers continue to rub the prayerbeads tangled up in his fingers and he glances around as shadows begin to just move about on their own in this gray place.

As the Barrowkeeper is distracted, he gestures to his three companions and says "I suggest we continue further on rather than losing precious little time, there's still far more greater challenges ahead."

"Agreed," Hadrian remarks with a nod toward the Mirrormask. The hand that had began to creep ever closer to the grip of his rapier withdraws and as the Barrowkeeper steps forward awaiting the peculiar object, Hadrian nods once and drops it into awaiting hands. Narrowed eyes remain fixed on the vaguely familiar figure for a moment before soon the Marquis sidesteps and attempts to bypass the Barrowkeeper with a comment to his companions, "Shall we then? I'd say that if we truly want to make the best type, our we should let the strongest carry us forth. Master Calaudrin, are you feeling up to carrying each of us on your back to speed up our journey?" Hadrian may not be entirely serious with the question, as he begins to move forward with his shoulders lowered as he begins to march his way through the barren, gray landscape in the direction of the tower.

The Barrowkeeper stops short when Hadrian presents that oh so curious object for all to see. His head tilts, and he regards it quizzically before looking to Mysterion and scowling. "You cheated," he states in a low, rumbling tone.

Mysterion lifts a long, slim white finger as he says, "I prepared. After all, the gods made the rules..." He then laughs, full and throaty. "They are protected. You have no jurisdiction over them. We shall continue on."

Taking the object from Hadrian's hands, the Barrowkeeper holds it aloft. A thumb presses into a notch, and the item clicks, shifts, and changes shape. A warm yellow light shines from it, akin to sunlight. Something sorely needed in this lifeless grey place. He then returns it to Hadrian, and the skin of his hand is as rough as must be expected of one who likes as though he was hewn from rock himself. "While this shines..." But there's nothing else. He turns away from them, muttering, "...'Ware the Burned Rider."

Saedrus watches the little goings on between Hadrian and the Barrowkeeper-- of the puzzle and its warm, sunny light. When it seems like they are free to carry on, the courtier moves to do so, sandaled feet moving lightly in the sands. He does continue keeping himself nearby Calaudrin, a little more curious attention on his shadow than he had before and what the thing was up to. Then a warning-- Saedrus lofts an ashen brow sharply, "I hope you kept a present spare for that one, Marquis," Saed chortles dryly. Let the trudging continue.

"I think you've got a confused understanding of strong..." Calaudrin mutters, glancing to Hadrian and then he lowers his bow when it seems they won't be going to blows with the Barrowkeeper. He certainly doesn't seem inclined to begin carrying anyone around. Instead, he lets the beads fall a little slack in his hands as the light beams. When they start to move again, he'll get his feet into motion and keep an eye on Saedrus when he sticks close to him.

Someone wearing A Dark Reflection Mirrormask moves to follow the group silently.

Calaudrin checked stamina + athletics at difficulty 15, rolling 4 higher.

Hadrian checked stamina + athletics at difficulty 15, rolling 5 higher.

Saedrus checked stamina + athletics at difficulty 15, rolling 5 lower.

Someone wearing A Dark Reflection Mirrormask checked stamina + athletics at difficulty 15, rolling 3 lower.

They walk for what seems many a long hour, yet they neither grow hungry nor thirsty. The going was not easy, however, as the land was not flat, and the ground was not stable. It was prone to shift underfoot, and often while climbing up or down a hill, the sand would give and cause one to sink, sometimes as deep as the ankle or shin. At one point, the Mirrormask does more than stumble, and nearly goes tumbling backwards down a particularly steep hill if not for the aid of his companions. At least as far as pure body language can suggest.

Mysterion does not appear to leave any footprints behind whatsoever. The trek hardly seems to give him any trouble, either. But he does not allow them to rest, urging them ever onwards whenever they begin to flag or feel. "We cannot delay," he says, looking down upon them from atop another hillock. "There are yet other denizens here, as the Barrowkeeper mentioned, if begrudingly. And..." He looks up, towards the heavy red moon, which had followed them as would a vengeful eye. "We've only so much time."

About this time, it's Saedrus' turn to take an ill step. His sandal slips, shifts upon the treacherous sand, and down he goes in a cloud of grey dust. A hand reaches down to assist him, though as the others look on, his shadow chases after, and presently looks about as extremely distressed as body language alone can suggest.

Someone wearing A Dark Reflection Mirrormask continues moving behind the group, the sound of slipping in the gray sand as the black robes move about when he loses his footing can be heard as the Mirrormask begins to slide back!

Calaudrin doesn't actually like to physically exert himself this much! But when one option is all you have... he trudges along until the sound of Probably Driskell in a Mirrormask begins to reach his ears. He slows, looks behinds him and drops back to offer his hands to the other man. "Come on. Get your bearings again." He encourages, which is around when Saedrus starts to fall back too.

Calaudrin checked mana + occult at difficulty 15, rolling 5 lower.

Saedrus checked mana + occult at difficulty 15, rolling 12 higher.

Someone wearing A Dark Reflection Mirrormask checked mana + occult at difficulty 15, rolling 65 higher.

The sound of someone falling does catch Saedrus' attention, though it's Calaudrin turning back to see to the fallen Mirrormask that turns his head. "Are you alright?" the courtier calls in a gentle lilt. It doesn't really matter how many years one trains to be graceful, or how careful Saedrus tries to keep his steps; sand is sand, and sandals are not fit for such slippery, treacherous ground. He had sunk a few times, but it was when his ankle turned off from the sole of his silk footwear that he actually made the tumble -- his ankle is probably fine, thankfully. There's still a surprised shriek as a plume of morbid grey floats about him and his hair fans in disarray. Ugh. Sand //everywhere//. "Gods.." Saedrus husks, pressing himself up a little on his hands, only catching a glimpse of the hand offered out to help him as one delicate hand slips to it instinctively. "Thank you.." he starts, his hand probably already taken by the time he catches his frantic shadow nearby.

Someone wearing A Dark Reflection Mirrormask catches Calaudrin's hand with his gloved one and the grip is strong as he rights himself up. The sound of curious clinks and objects underneath the robes that have unfortunately fallen open reveal the Mirrormask wears (of course) black underneath but has small vials and pouches strapped to his body, curious symbols and such burned on the dark leather straps. Gloved hands move to close the robes back up, gold eyes stare from behind the emotionless mask as the voice says "Thank you, I'll try to remember that saying, a hand for the ship, a hand for myself." to Calaudrin, although the activity of Saedrus has him look over at his companion.

Hadrian checked mana + occult at difficulty 15, rolling 4 lower.

As bodies begin to fall around him, Hadrian's head snaps this way and that in search of someone to handle the action of helping others. The Mirrormask is claimed by Calaudrin, so Hadrian whirls around in order to extend a hand to Saedrus. Then he freezes when Saedrus' shadow seems to take affront. A quick shake of his head sends Hadrian's attention back to Saedrus whom he addresses imploringly, "Let's... hey, let's just look at me, yes?" A gloved hand extends to Saedrus in offer to guide the Whisper back to his feet.

"Saeeeedrusssss," says the voice, like the wind through dead leaves. The hand that clasps about his wrist is most certainly not normal. It is hot to the touch, for one, and arguably worse, it seems to possess no flesh. Or, rather, very little flesh, and that which is there is thin and crisp. The bony fingers, however, are surprisingly strong as Saedrus is hauled to his feet to the sound of creaking. There are also a few hollow thumps, and it is then apparent to Saedrus - though others would have seen this well before, that the one to have helped him was mounted upon a horse.

Horse and rider are little more than charred flesh and bone, though the rider wears a smoking, tattered black cloak with its hood thrown up over its head. Upon his face, or what is left of it, are the jellied streams of eyes that had burst and melted away. In his other hand is a sword, blackened, the metal nearly melted away until all that remains is a wavy length no longer than child's forearm. Other pieces of metal are also fused into the rider's body, here and there. Buckles and the like. So too are the remains old burned leather.

Saedrus checked composure + empathy at difficulty 30, rolling 31 higher.

Someone wearing A Dark Reflection Mirrormask checked perception + empathy at difficulty 20, rolling 3 higher.

With the Mirrormask back on steady ground again, or as steady as sand can get, Calaudrin releases his hands with a brief nod. He reaches into his breastpocket to pat something there and then watches with wide eyes as Saedrus is helped by the rider. "Looks charred to me." He murmurs and begins to worry those prayerbeads again, casting a quick glance towars wherever Mysterion has gotten himself to.

Behind the stygian spiraling maelstrom mask, the gold eyes of the Mirrormask stare at the mounted figure that looms before them, a look of recognition in the eyes. For those that desire to listen, a smooth voice speaks from behind it saying quietly, "I suggest we don't speak to him disrespectfully, and remember weapons will not work here. Speak to him as his station requires. He is no lowborn, nothing common at all, a stately highborn." and so the black robed figure gives a bow of his head to the burned rider. Saedrus, he's closer.

There's more grey dust and sand as Saedrus is hauled from his feet, his fingers first drawing up away from the warm touch about his wrist. He's up on his feet before he knew it! And staring up at //that thing//. It's a natural first instinct to pull back when confronted with gore and horror, to want to wrench his arm away from the Rider holding him but he probably doesn't get free-- and more so he slips again in the sand. Something catches the courtier's attention as he rights himself a second time, and Saed looks weak all over again, paler than usual as he whimpers a small, broken sound. But just as quickly, "Shut up." Saedrus snaps, vicious, for the Mirrormasks (frankly apt) observation.

Hadrian's hand instinctly moves to his rapier, but it freezes at the Mirrormask's advice. Or order. The mounted rider earns Hadrian's attention a moment later and Hadrian offers a deep bow of his head in silent greeting. He takes no steps in either retreat or advance, but instead finds himself rooted in place. Harlequin eyes flick aside to regard Calaudrin and the Mirrormask, then to Saedrus, and finally back to the desert rider. For a change Hadrian opts into silence, perhaps taking Saedrus' abrupt command to heart and instead allows for the Whisper to do what a Whisper does best.

Calaudrin looks from first the Mirrormask and then cuts to the Whisper as he snaps at the other man. He looks at the burned man warily before pursing lips together and bowing briefly at the waste. Though he slowly drifts closer to the center of the group now, his suspicion on high alert.

The Burned Rider leans forward upon his saddle, and says something privately to Saedrus. Meanwhile, Mysterion appears to converse with his fellow Mirrormask.

Strangely, Saedrus doesn't move away from the rider again but closer. Little gestures look like it might well be muscle memory, down to the way the hand not captured lifts and splays up from the Rider's chest towards one shoulder as they speak.

Someone wearing A Dark Reflection Mirrormask is silent as Saedrus speaks, listening to Mysterion and the gold eyes narrow behind the mask again before a mirrored hand lifts from out of the robes and levels a finger towards Saedrus, "The Thirteenth says that we must strive to master and control our passions and desires so they might not control us. It is written that he is blessed who can overcome his passions than the greatest general that will conquer the world; for the most difficult victory is over one's self. Remember where you are, Chosen. You are in His realm, what reflects is that of our passions to test us. Take the passion and choose to use it for the right reasons, to strengthen yourself and change the world. We...cannot do it for you."

Looking up, the Burned Rider offers a deep nod of his head, saying, "Duke Malvici." His head then swings towards the Mirrormask, but he says nothing in reply to his words to Saedrus. Instead, he addresses Calaudrin and Hadrian, saying, "You have not much time, it is true. I can lead you where you need to go. That one," he points at Mysterion. "Will fail you in the end."

"What's your stake in this?" Calaudrin asks, looking between the Burned Rider and Mysterion. There's a hitch to his eyebrow when Hadrian is referred to as 'duke malvici'.

Saedrus' head snaps back to the Mirrormask, glassy evergreen eyes narrowed with a furious look. Whatever anger might have been there quickly dissipates under some unseen touch by the Rider that the courtier looks back to, his own fingers curling into the cloak at the Rider's shoulder. "He wants to-- help us." Saedrus offers softly.

Calaudrin's eyebrow isn't the only one to rise as Hadrian's does as well at the greeting. He doesn't respond verbally, but instead offers another bow of his head, this time with far more graciousness and an undercurrent of acknowledge contained within the gesture. One hand drapes across the front of himself, with the other tucks in beneath the folds of his sword cloak. Saedrus' comment though draws a brief glance from Hadrian to the Whisper, then onward his chin shifts to regard Mysterion with the accusation leveled by the Lord Crispyton.

"Love," answers the Burned Rider. Yet coming from his lipless mouth, it seems a ghastly thing. His hand reaches out to stroke the top of Saedrus' hair, and mayhaps the gesture was a gentle one, but for Hadrian and Calaudrin, it can be nothing other than morbid. Tainted.

Mysterion, meanwhile, watches on impassively, his red eyes glimmering faintly behind his mask of stygian. "Our Brother is right," he eventually says. "There are battles in which no one can be of any help."

The hand which forever holds within it a sword no raises into the air...

Someone wearing A Dark Reflection Mirrormask is observing intently the going ons and what is being said, and as Mysterion affirms, he merely waits as he watches Saedrus and to see what choices will be made.

"Saedrus, we're not taking him home with us. He isn't a puppy." Calaudrin states gruffly and steps closer to the Whisper, to tug on his arm. "Come on. I vote we stick with the original guide. Lets keep moving."

Saedrus withdraws his hand from the Rider's shoulder, though he takes a half step back. The touch to his hair looking like it might be enough to leave the courtier crumbling but he does not. There is a final whisper of words, and Saedrus steps back, "let us continue, now and without threat."

Hadrian nods toward Calaudrin and the insistence that he offers, but with Saedrus' own backward step and statement the Marquis finally voices his agreement, "Yes". Hadrian turns away quickly and begins to take brisk strides through the sand, though he nearly stumbles at the sand shifts beneath his boots. He plants himself, corrects his leaning posture, and then continues onward in an apparent desperate bid to place distance between himself and the mounted figure. As he steps away the shiver runs through his spine and out of his shoulders as he mutters quietly to himself, "...his hair though? Going to need to wash it with whiskey."

The Burned Rider gives Saedrus a single nod, and his sword arm lowers. The horse pulls away from the courtier, circles once, and then the Burned Rider spurs off, only to dissipate no more than twenty strides away. There are no tracks, no nothing, to show that he ever even was.

"Let us continue," Mysterion says, with little emotion. The moon seems to have just a touch lower, and the Tower is...remarkably nearer. The very air seems to hum with an electric vibe, setting the skin to tingling in ones extremities. "Desire can hold one back," Mysterion informs. "Just as much as it can propel one forward. Sometimes we must let go to be free. Not far, now, not far at all."

Even though the touch from Calaudrin is felt, Saedrus stays in place while the Rider makes his circle and doesn't move at all until the black cloak, horse and rider dissipates entirely. Only then does Saedrus turn about to follow Calaudrin's prompt. "Do. Not. Speak to me right now." Saedrus hisses in Mysterion's direction as he levels his feet carefully in the dull sands.

Someone wearing A Dark Reflection Mirrormask watches as Saedrus makes his decision and the masked face gives a single nod and begins to follow the group onwards, occasionally looking over the shoulder down the hill before looking back towards the Tower and the goal.

As the group begins to move on again, Calaudrin gives the rider a long look. Then he too is getting his feet moving again, carefully and deliberately picking his way across the sands. There's some occasional slips but he seems determined to keep trudging. At one point, he makes a noise in his throat before reaching over to bump his closed fist against Saedrus' arm. It's meant to be companionable, but he sucks at this.

Hadrian glances to his shoulder to regard the rest of the group, though his gaze lingers for a time on Saedrus. The Marquis' brow furrows as frown lines become evident. They begin to dissipate however when Hadrian shoots a reassuring grin off toward the Softest of Whispers. Then Hadrian focuses ahead once more and continues in his trek through the sand. Soon after he turns his attention back to the journey, Hadrian's voice can be heard in the dreariness of the place, "Did you hear about the actor who fell through the floorboards?" He pauses a beat as he continues to trudge forward, "He was just going through a stage." Onward the Marquis walks after the brief humor, head and shoulders lowered as he marches onward.

Saedrus is quiet as he carefully moves forward, head turned from the group to prompt the fall of his hair to curtain his face from the others. There is a little look to Calaudrin and the gentle fistbump to his arm and Hadrian, well, Saed dips his head again after the crack. Maybe he's laughing. Maybe.

What the group stumbles upon next is as unexpected as everything in this place, thus far, has been. The tower is now, if one can reasonably expect to judge, perhaps half a mile to a mile away. Yet the land and sky make all such guesses incredibly hard. And the Tower itself is now so large that looks as though it would crush the entire ward of the Crown if it were translated to their own world. And no matter how hard one looks, and cranes their neck, its top its lost. Lost amidst endless grey. Only the red moon reflects within it, so that now it appears as if they are watched by two eyes in truth.

And there, in the lee of a small hill, is a lone obelisk, seemingly made of the same black rock as the Tower. From it extend a series of chains, which lead to a figure laying crumpled at its base, nearly buried within the sand. Mysterion seems to gasp, and for the first time he displays a sense of haste, as he rushes forward to the prone individual. "I have returned," he says, brushing away the fine grit. "As I promised. You are not abandoned!" His masked head turns towards the Chosen. "The one we must bring back. The reason you all were called." His hand stretches out towards them, imploring, even as the figure groans.

"My dear, faithful, confused friend..."

Someone wearing A Dark Reflection Mirrormask moves on slowly in the back of the group, and sometime during this part of the journey, he's pulled the black hood up over his head to cast the mask in darker shadow. He stands behind Calaudrin for the moment.

As they approach the tower, Calaudrin's eyes widen and he stares up at how impossibly large it is. Then he's darting his attention to the obelisk and the person chained to it. When he notices that someone is standing behind him, he looks uncertainly back and furrows his eyebrows as if he's not so sure /that's/ a great idea.

Saedrus touches a hand through his hair, fingers curling into the snowy lengths to drag it over his shoulder. It's the gap from Mysterion that really draws the courtier's attention -- oh, he /does/ have feelings, the look seems to say. Though Saedrus certainly isn't rushing though he does walk forward towards the obelisk away from the protection of his usual place behind Calaudrin.

Hadrian steps up to Calaudrin's side. Apparently putting on his brave face. Or, judging by the slight lean, sharing a quiet comment toward the Iron Guardsman. When Hadrian leans away again his attention shifts from the chained figure which rises from the sand. Then Hadrian's focus drifts toward Mysterion and finally the Mirrormask, "Rarely is it that one is bound by so many chains, that didn't warrant it". Hadrian's focus shifts back to the chained figure at the mention of a confused friend, whom Hadrian takes to be Brother Mysterion and who in turn acquires Hadrian's attention, "Friend or servant?"

Chains rattle as the figure, revealed now as a gaunt, surprisingly young man, sits up. He regards first Mysterion who kneels at his side, and then the others. His eyes fix upon each of them in turn. Intent, yet horrifyingly lifeless: a stare both cold nd casual, curious and yet vastly - fundamentally - indifferent. "Both, and neither," he informs them in a lilting voice.

"I found him," Mysterion then says, looking towards the youth. "I cannot tell you how long I looked into him, and he into me, but I came to know his story..."

"And determined that he would free me, though it is not my choice," the young man concludes.

"He is chained by grief, and guilt," Mysterion argues before the Chosen. "I serve the Reflection, but there are things I cannot do. I needed help."

"You needed flesh and blood," snarls the young man. "Leave this place, and leave me! You have the key, else the Barrowkeeper would have interred you.

Saedrus pauses, perhaps a couple steps away from the poor gaunt looking youth and Mysterion. The courtier's brows lift a hair, soft lips turning down, and drying tears on his cheeks. "Flesh and blood?" he echoes of the Chained One, "that is what you need us for?" He turns his head back towards the other three.

"That doesn't sound ominous at all." Calaudrin replies as he lifts his hand with the prayerbeads and brings them to his chest. He looks from Driskell behind him to Saedrus, also close. "He doesn't seem like he wants anyone's help. Maybe he wants to be punished. Is this the Sentinel's justice? Do you seek to circumvent it?" He asks Mysterion now, sending him a harsh glance.

Someone wearing A Dark Reflection Mirrormask says behind his flesh shield after Saedrus, "I'm reminded of His words regarding this. Our passions can either be like a steel shield to guard our souls and give us the advantage in a situation, or they can be like iron chains that prevent us from moving forward." There's a bit of silence before he offers to Calaudrin something whispered.

"I think that the implication is that our favorite disciple of the Thirteenth," Hadrian answers Saedrus with a faintly sarcastic tone and a nod cast toward Mysterion, "isn't one or both of those things. He couldn't do it himself. He needed us to gather the keys, because he could not. At a guess, of course." Hadrian's arm shifts as his hand beneath his sword cloak moves, perhaps clutching the mentioned key to his side. Hadrian's harlequin eyes turn back to Mysterion for a moment and then back to the gaunt figure, "And yet he doesn't wish to be freed and...", Hadrian's attention flashes to Calaudrin for a moment. He casts a nod toward the Iron Guardsman before Hadrian's attention snaps back to the chained youth and Mysterion who kneels at his side.

Saedrus moves forward still, finally reaching Mysterion and the guant figure. At the Chained One's side, the courtier kneels with fluid grace beside him-- opposite and as far from Mysterion as he can manage. "What guilt is it that keeps you here? That keeps these chains bound?"

Calaudrin makes a noise at something said to him quietly by the Mirrormask before nodding at Hadrian's other assessment of the situation that they're in.

"The Sentinel does not keep souls from Death's Wheel," Mysterion asserts. He stands now, and points to the young man. "Though I understand his reasoning, it does not rule me. It would be a misplaced pity." His burning red eyes regard the three of them. "It was his choice to to be chained thus, yet who are mortals to determine their fates thus?" It is not merely an inquiry, but a demand, his voice now propped by iron. "You were called, and you answered. Your every step - every step! - has been willingly undertaken. It is now for you to choose whether you will aid me, the Dark Reflection, and the rest of the Pantheon, or you aid him--"

"DON'T LISTEN TO HIM," shouts the youth. Whatever self-possesion he contained seemed to falter. His pale face grows yet paler, as though all the blood were rushing out of him. "He couches his words in holiness and reason, but he serves naught but evil." He reaches out for Saedrus, chains rattling as he does so. "Such as I am, such as I am," he almost weeps. "My death was by my own design." His hands clutch, and he cowers, retreating against the black obelisk. "I could not bear it any longer. I could not bear my sins, and the sins I lead others into. Absolute annihilation was the only way out. Of myself. Of all of us. After they consumed me, a virulent poison was unleashed amongst them all. They were freed. And I, I wound up here. My soul is too dark, too stained, to ever be re-used!"

Someone wearing A Dark Reflection Mirrormask steps slightly to Calaudrin's side and makes his way slowly towards the chained man, a mirrored hand comes out of the folds of his robes and is balled in a fist, although perhaps glimpses of light slip out as he raises it while he walks. The voice speaks, smooth and controlled, from the shadows of the hood as the red moon's light twinkles on the vortex of stygian, "Darkness is not evil, light is not good, friend. There is only the dream and the nightmare, and the culmination of the power our choices bring which will determine ultimately the fate of all. By His power, the Thirteenth, do I have strength and I can look at the darkness deep within me and know the choices I have made in the past have been good and evil, and that the choices in the future will no doubt be just as terrible. You've been here too long...far too long...and you forget." The glowing fist is lowered to the chained man, and slowly the mirrored hand opens.

Someone wearing A Dark Reflection Mirrormask drops jade fragment.

Hadrian remains attentive to the unfolding scene, but he takes the role of a spectator as he stands back with Calaudrin. He does however lean aside to quietly comment to Calaudrin. Afterward Hadrian speaks up, "The choices we make in the past, don't reflect on the choices we make now and in the future. In fact they can teach us what choices not to make. For good or ill."

Saedrus doesn't balk or move away as the man reaches a hand to him. He listens, but don't lean after the Chained One as he moves back. Saedrus' attention lifts up to the Mirrormask with a curious look. Saed keeps quiet, studying the motions and the offer of the Mirrormask's hand, elegantly lifting from his knees to his feet.

The Chained One recoils as though being burned, he claws away, obscuring his face. "No!" He shrieks, and again, "No!" Mysterion watches on, his hands hanging limply at his sides as he murmurs, "Where did he find that, I wonder...?" Then his attention snaps to Hadrian. "The key," he says. "Bring it forward. Our Brother has in his possession something...precious." He chuckles to himself. "And here I thought these things lost."

Hadrian looks downward for a moment, though his arm remains hidden away beneath his sword cloak. Teeth press together for a moment as he exhales a breath and his focus shifts up to regard Saedrus, Mirrorpal Miracle Max, Chained One, and finally Brother Mysterion. Hadrian lifts his chin ever so slightly before he smartly retorts at Mysterion, "I'll hand it over when I'm good and ready and satisfied that I'm not about to unleash some evil onto the world." Hadrian's attention then turns back to the youthful, chained figure. It is Saedrus and the Mirrormask that Hadrian looks to next. Finally, he exhales a heavy breath and his head shakes from side to side. He hands the puzzling object over, or at least hands it toward, Mirrorpal with a comment, "I'm entrusting you to make the right decision." The key stands in Hadrian's palm, ready for the taking from the golden-eyed Mirrormask.

Saedrus frowns for the Chained One's response, evergreens cast quick to Mysterion with what can only be described as grave mistrust. That though softens at Hadrian's voice, and the courtier steps close by the Marquis' side. A small sigh heard, echoing without words a similar sentiment to Hadrian's warning.

3 Iron Guardsmen have been dismissed.

Someone wearing A Dark Reflection Mirrormask flicks his gaze from the Chained Man to Hadrian, looking at the palm and the key. One hand holds the glowing object that seems to burn the Chained One as it glows. "It is my belief that the soul is most precious, that it belongs not here chained to prevent it leaving but instead liberated to the Great Wheel so that it may go to its rightful place. May the Sentinel judge me then for this." Mirrored fingers barely touch Hadrian's palm and he takes the key in his other hand. For a moment, the gold eyes close and his body jolts underneath the black robes as if being struck, the hood falling backwards so the Dark Brother's stygian mask is again revealed and there is a muffled groan underneath the mask of pain. A few moments later, the gold eyes can be seen opened as he looks to the Chained One, saying with firm control over his voice and tone " "The soul is most precious...I judge you not, friend, but the Chosen have come to return what was lost. May you find forgiveness within you."

"Judge you indeed," the Chained One hisses, his expression contorted in hate and fear. Mysterion glides beside his fellow Mirrormask, saying, "The Tower is the door. All of us shall pass through it, and return to the places we belong." He then looks towards Saedrus, Calaudrin, and Hadrian while he awaits the further actions of the Mirrormask. "I shall miss our time together."

Hadrian's gaze flicks from the Mirrormask, toward the Chained One, and then aside to regard Saedrus. A low rasp of a whisper is heard as the Marquis' lips part, "I suddenly have a very bad feeling about this." He slowly shakes his head before his attention turns to Saedrus and he nods toward the tower, "Shall we then?" Then the former Duke begins to move toward the tower and the supposed way out of the realm. Over his shoulder he calls out to the Chained One, "Relax. You must really relax. All this angst can't be good for your heart." And onward he goes.

Saedrus leaves Hadrian's side to approach the Chained One once more, to lean in if he were able and to touch a kiss lightly at the man's hollow cheek or temple. "There are infinite paths for every soul, even if a road to redemption seems long, it does not mean there is not an end to it. Those once wicked, given the chance can change themselves. Do not make me regret this." He says softly, regardless of whether that kiss had been permitted or not. Then he looks back to Mysterion, "I am not staying here any longer." He snides, turning as Hadrian done to move beside the Marquis towards the tower. He doesn't have red slippers to click, so the tower would just have to do.

Someone wearing A Dark Reflection Mirrormask takes the curse of the Chained One on the face...er, mask. But one gets the idea. He moves away from the Chained One, the key and glowing object in hand as the group begins to move to the tower. He does though say to Mysterion, "Until our paths cross again or the next blood moon, may you be reminded of the struggles and challenges of those who are on the other side of the mirror have and that while we may fail, the darkest of times is where we shine brightest. Be well, Brother." as he bows.

Someone wearing A Dark Reflection Mirrormask checked luck at difficulty 5, rolling 11 higher.

Saedrus checked luck at difficulty 5, rolling 2 higher.

Hadrian checked luck at difficulty 5, rolling 11 higher.

As the Mirrormask approaches the Tower, that sense of an electric undercurrent returns, stronger than ever. The hair upon the back of arms and necks stands up, and arms and legs tingle; hearts begin to race. And the moon, oh, the moon! It seems as though one could reach out and touch it, for it hangs so low. Yet as the key is presented, that sense of oppression is lifted. A way grows clear through the utter black that is the Tower. The Mirrormask need only pass through, and the others may follow behind. The moment he does so, the light within his hands shines bright, impossibly bright, and it engulfs them all. Their ears are filled with a multitude of whispers that cannot be deciphered...

The first to awake are the Mirrormask and Hadrian, followed by Saedrus, and lastly Calaudrin. The Shrine of the Thirteenth is empty save for them. It is very nearly dawn, the world caught in that...lovely shade of grey. Of priests or guards, there is no sign. Yet when the last man files out of the shrine (surely none of them are going to stand around and chat! They can do that *outside*), a shadow detaches itself from the wall towards the back. Pale white hands come together as an amused voice says, perhaps to no one in particular, "You cannot postpone a reckoning forever." Then one ghostly whine hand pulls away from the other, lifts to the solid black mask of stygian, and tugs it away as Mysterion bows theatrically.

There is no face.